


Poetry and Pet Names

by SpenceRose



Series: Finding A Goldfish [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adorable, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Insecure Mycroft, M/M, Pet Names, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpenceRose/pseuds/SpenceRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg wants Valentines Day to be special. </p><p>Mycroft wants the pet names to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's Not A Poet But...

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Valentines Day but not posted then so here you are now.

Greg didn't consider himself a poet. He has trouble finding the right words just talking, let alone ones that rhymed. Why he was even attempting, he would never know. It just seemed like something to do for Valentines Day.

He stared at the paper and frowned. Maybe if he started with how they met? That could work. 

Five minutes later, after he had written one line, his phone rang. He immediately recognized the number as one from a police station. He sighed and answered it, fearing the worse. 

“Hi, Greg,” John said. “Sherlock's gotten us arrested. Again.”

“For the love of…” he began but just sighed. “I'll be right there. Try not to get into too much more trouble.”

Greg went down to the station and saw Mycroft standing there. He grinned and looped an arm around his waist. He'd gone too long without seeing him. A week, at least, because of their jobs.

“I see Sherlock called you,” he said. Mycroft rolled his eyes at the mention of his brother but smiled none the less. 

“Yes, seems my dear brother can’t take one day off of making my life difficult,” he stated. Greg kissed his cheek and they walked into the station. 

“What did you do this time?” Greg asked. 

“He wanted to dig up a bloody grave,” John snapped. They all turned to Sherlock with wide eyes and he huffed, crossing his arms. 

“It wasn’t an actual grave,” he said. “There was something buried above the coffin, alright? It was just a few inches below the surface.”

“We still walked into a graveyard while you were holding a shovel!” John shouted. 

“Will you two wait until you’re at your flat to have your lover’s quarrel?” Mycroft snapped. They both glared at him and Greg sighed. 

“You two get a cab,” he said. “Myke doesn’t want to deal with you and, frankly, neither do I. I have to go back to work anyway and, no, there are no new cases.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John looked crestfallen, probably at the prospect of taking a very bored Sherlock home. Sherlock finally heaved a very exaggerated sigh and turned away. 

“Fine, go have sex at the office,” he said. This caused different reactions to come from the other three men. Mycroft flushed and shouted his name, Greg’s ears went red and his mouth went slack, and John had already started telling him off. Sherlock started laughing and John cuffed him upside the head. “Lestrade was at least thinking about it.”

Eyes turned to Greg and he looked around, his blush darkening. 

“What is wrong with you?” Greg snapped. “That isn’t… oh, forget it. I have something important to work on.”

He turned and stomped out and Mycroft followed him. He stopped outside and turned to the other man. 

“Your brother is bloody annoying,” he said between gritted teeth. Mycroft nodded in agreement and sighed. 

“I don’t know why you put up with me if you find him so infuriating,” he said with a light shrug. Greg immediately rounded on him and caught him in a stare he used on his subordinates. This of course did nothing for the older Holmes.

“Mycroft bloody Holmes,” he breathed. “Everytime I hear you say that, I expect it to be the last time because I always tell you the same thing.”

“You tell me that your feelings toward Sherlock don’t affect your feelings for me,” Mycroft quoted like he was reading out of a textbook. Greg nodded and took Mycroft’s hands.

“And then I tell you that I love you,” he said, reaching up to caress his cheek. “I say that you’re one of the most amazing people I have ever met and I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

“You’re quite sentimental, Gregory,” Mycroft said, reaching up to take his hand. “I must say that I feel the same way about you.”

“I know you do, darling,” Greg said. Mycroft’s eyebrow twitched at the sound of the pet name but that was the only indication that he was surprised. “I have to get back to the Yard.”

“You’re coming to mine for dinner tonight, Gregory!” Mycroft called after him. Greg laughed and turned back. 

“I’ll see you then, sweetheart,” he said with a wave. 

He made it back to the Yard and sat down at his desk. He barely had enough time to pick his pen up before Donovan came in. 

“Sir, there's been a murder,” she said. He sighed and stood up. 

“Can't they wait until I finish this,” he muttered as he grabbed his coat. He sent a text to Sherlock as he walked out and got into the car with Donovan.

Moments later, they were all standing around a corpse. Sherlock was examining it and talking a million miles a minute, Greg struggling to keep up. 

“Wait, she's from where?” he asked. 

“America,” Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes. “Do try to keep up, Lestrade.”

Sherlock finally went quiet as he examined around them. Lestrade glanced at John and shifted uncomfortably. 

“Alright, what is it, Greg?” he asked, turning to face him. 

“What?” Greg frowned, looking surprised. 

“You don't live with Sherlock Holmes without picking up a few things now why are you so fidgety,” he asked. 

“Oh, well, Valentine's Day is coming up,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you write, yeah? Well, mostly the blog but you're pretty good and all.”

“Get to the point,” John frowned. 

“How are you with poetry?” he asked. 

“Poetry? I'm not the best. Average, at best,” he shrugged. Greg nodded thoughtfully. “Why?”

“Just curious,” he said. John would have pressed more but Sherlock walked over. 

“We can try to track her phone,” he said. 

“What?” Greg asked. 

“Young woman, early twenties, would have her phone on her,” he said. “The only reason she wouldn't is if the murderer took it from her. Probably caught his picture or something.”

“It's as simple as that?” he frowned. 

“Of course not,” Sherlock frowned. “There's very little that would indicate an ameteur so he's done it before. Of course, that might mean they might kill again.”

“I'll keep my eyes out,” Greg sighed. Sherlock nodded. 

“Now then, do the search for the phone and don't miss your dinner with my brother,” he said. Greg glared at him as he turned to John. “Come along, John.”


	2. Let's Have Dinner

Mycroft wasn’t the best at cooking. Actually, that’s a bit kind. He was terrible. It irked him that he was so inadequate in the area but he didn’t let it get to him too much. Especially when he had an assistant like Anthea. 

“Thank you,” he smiled as she moved about the kitchen. “I do most certainly owe you.”

“Honestly, sir, it’s nothing,” she said, giving him a smile. “I enjoy cooking. Besides, it’s worth it considering the next time I see the detective inspector, he’ll be telling me how much he enjoyed it.”

Mycroft chuckled. The relationship between Anthea and Greg was most interesting. It consisted of short conversations, shared fond looks, and mutual Holmesian-induced exasperation. Honestly, he found it surprising the two didn’t meet up for a drink to discuss their very interesting lives. Mycroft could see them becoming very good friends. 

“I deeply appreciate this,” he stated, leaning against the counter as he watched her. 

“You’ve expressed that in every verbal way possible, sir,” she said, not feeling at all self-conscious under his scrutiny. She knew how he liked to observe, whether he already knew the subject’s manners or not. “Greg, I’m sure, will be here any moment so if you want to get ready.”

Mycroft glanced down at his clothes. He was still dressed in his suit, waistcoat and all. He pursed his lips, thinking for a second before standing and walking to his room. He changed so that he wore a light button up and dress pants. It was as casual as he got. He walked out to the kitchen again as he finished buttoning the top of his shirt. Anthea glanced up at him and smiled softly.

“I’ve never seen you with such few clothes, sir,” she commented as she looked back down. “You look so casual.”

A light blush coated Mycroft’s cheeks as he looked down at the shirt, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. Anthea looked back up at him as he fiddled with the buttons of the shirt.

“You look fine, sir. Stop fussing.”

Mycroft stopped and looked up at her a bit sheepishly. He composed himself quickly, standing up straighter. 

“I’m not fussing,” he said calmly. “I don’t fuss.”

“Of course, sir,” she hummed, looking back down. She finished cooking and helped Mycroft set the table.

“I shall never know what I did to deserve someone as kind as you,” Mycroft said with a soft smile. She returned it gently.

“Enjoy your night, sir,” she said as he helped her put on her coat. She opened the door to see Greg standing there with his hand in the air to knock. “Oh, Greg! Nice to see you.”

He blinked in confusion for a fraction of a moment before smiling back at her. 

“You as well,” he said. He moved into the hall as she stepped back. “Helping Mycroft, I assume?”

“He didn’t want to take you out,” she explained. They both looked over as Mycroft cleared his throat and then exchanged small smiles. “Goodnight, Greg. Enjoy dinner.”

“Goodnight, Anthea. I’m sure I will,” he smiled, waving as she closed the front door behind her. He turned to Mycroft and his smile grew as he looked him over. “You look wonderful, darling.”

Once again, Mycroft’s eyebrow twitched at the pet name but he gave no other indication of acknowledgement. 

“As do you,” Mycroft said. Greg had actually had enough time to go home to change before coming over and now wore a simple button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and jeans, a fashion decision that Mycroft appreciated. Mycroft cleared his throat. “We should eat before the food gets cold.”

Greg nodded and they walked to the dining room. Mycroft pulled Greg’s chair out for him and moved to sit across from him. It was comfortably quiet for a moment as they ate and Greg let out a moan of pleasure as he took a bite of the steak that startled Mycroft. He looked up at the other man and blinked.

“Anthea has outdone herself,” Greg stated and Mycroft chuckled. 

“Indeed she has,” he replied. “I'll be sure to tell her you thought so.”

Greg smiled and Mycroft went back to his dinner. Greg studied him for a moment. 

“Has anyone ever taught you to cook?” he asked, making Mycroft look up again. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Cooking. Has anyone taught you before?” 

“Not to my recollection.”

Greg hummed thoughtfully as he took another bite from his steak and Mycroft narrowed his eyes. 

“Why?” he demanded. 

“Hm? Oh, no reason,” Greg said, giving him an award winning smile that only served to make Mycroft more suspicious. 

“Gregory, you understand how hard it is to keep secrets from me, yes?”

“Oh, yes, that’s one thing I absolutely  _ know _ beyond the shadow of a doubt about you Holmeses,” Greg smirked. “Honestly, darling, I’m not stupid.”

“Why do you keep saying those?” Mycroft said (not blurted because he does not blurt things out).

“Saying what?”

“Those  _ pet names _ ? Darling, love,  _ sweetheart?” _

“Oh, those. Something wrong with them?”

“They’re juvenile.”

Greg looked up at him and smiled. Mycroft was watching him with that slight frown that he used for meetings to intimidate people but it had long since stopped working on Greg. 

“Come now, sweetie,” he said, trying not to sound amused. He was failing miserably. “They’re not that bad.”

“I am a high ranking government official, Gregory,” Mycroft said distastefully. Greg just chuckled.

“Come on, babe,” he smirked, enjoying the pinkness of Mycroft’s cheeks. “Tell me that you don’t like it and I’ll stop.”

Mycroft just huffed and looked down at his plate, making Greg’s smirk grow. They finished in silence and Greg checked the time, sighing when he realized how late it was. He stood up and walked towards Mycroft. 

“While I love how time slips away when I’m with you, I wish it didn’t,” he said.”I’ll help you clean up and then I’ll have to leave.”

“You could always stay the night,” Mycroft said before he thought it through. Greg raised his eyebrows and Mycroft’s blush returned. “I-I mean, there’d be no... messing around, of course. We haven’t even… And we both have work in the morning.”

Greg chuckled and bent down to press a kiss to his lips. 

“As much as I would love to stay, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said as he straightened up. “I doubt I’d be able to keep my hands off you if I did.”

Mycroft snorted and Greg lifted an eyebrow. 

“Let’s clean up and then you can go home for the night,” Mycroft said and Greg nodded. They cleaned the dining room and kitchen and Greg gave Mycroft another kiss. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, love,” he smiled and Mycroft returned it. 

“Good night, Gregory.”


End file.
